


If I hadn't met you

by psychemenace



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Depression, Gen, Self Harm, super angsty hahahah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-23 14:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12509720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychemenace/pseuds/psychemenace
Summary: Fushimi wakes up living like he is living a life not his own.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The full finished version of my other fanfic with the same title. I was inspired by Aimer’s song Anata Deawanakereba~natsuyuki fuyu Hana.

“I’ll build you a castle. You’ll be the prince and I’ll be your knight. I’ll defend you from whoever dares to hurt you!”

Little Misaki waves his plastic sword in the air with confidence as though he was a little knight, honourable and brave; as though his little arms that only ever felt tenderness and affection were arms of a warrior tattooed with battle scars, and that his little hands clenched around the plastic sword’s handle were calloused and brute rather than soft and beloved. His face beamed like spring opening just after winter leaves, sweeping away the loneliness and the darkness that comes with the cold.

You know how it is when night meets day. The twilight. Daybreak consuming the darkness. That’s why it is called daybreak, light breaks out from a vantage point, spreads and consumes the darkness, engulfing it like it is claiming something, like it’s making you forget that there was ever a time that the world was dark; its existence as palpable as the heat it provides. Misaki was like that. He was daybreak—sun perking up over the horizon slowly painting the sky with the colors of golden rust as the day ripens like a fruit.

Fushimi thinks that if his friend was daybreak, maybe he was the night:  all darkness sprinkled with little starlights of hope spread unevenly in his being. Maybe Misaki was wrong. Maybe they should switch places. He the knight, and Misaki the prince. It was fitting, for after all, Misaki was the centre of his universe; he was that little orb of light that he holds like a treasure in his heart when life gets too tough.  Even at such a young age, he realised that he was not living a normal life. He realised early on that he needed to hide his feelings; that loving something meant losing them.  And that I love yous and goodnight kisses were only something out of a fantasy book.

“Saru?” Misaki leans in, trying different angles in an effort to see Fushimi’s face; peaking as if he was trying to scrape a hole on a wall to gaze upon Fushimi’s soul.  He was wearing a puzzled expression on his face, the one he always wears whenever Fushimi talks about something he didn’t quite understand but he was pretending he did. Soft cheeks; red locks swaying in the air, and short arms now dangling, hands holding the sword at his side. Misaki was innocence in the flesh and all sunlight and daisies on the inside of that rambunctious and childish mind.

“Misaki?”

Misaki smiles brightly at him. Maybe this is how it is to gaze directly at the sun. Even if Fushimi never directly looked at the sun for fear of going blind, he knew deep in his heart that if he did, it would be like this: blindingly painful but worth the try as he’s being consumed by light.


	2. Chapter 2

_If I hadn't met you  there wouldn't have been_  
_such a heartrending clenching in my chest...but still_  
_If I hadn't met you  without even knowing of strength or gentleness_  
_I cried in the corner of the room, without seeing anything._

_I don't need the seasons  I don't want to touch anything_  
_At this rate, it'd be all right  if I forget the name of that flower_  
_But in my dreams, you're laughing_  
_Even now, it's this way_

* * *

It was the metronome sound of the ECG machine that prodded Fushimi to open his lazy eyes. It started faint like a whisper and then rose to a fortissimo as Fushimi gathered himself.

A digital heartbeat it was in his ears. Resonating with the throbbing organ inside of him, it filled the stillness with life. The sound of his own breath and the stretch of his sinews settled him to reality. He caught a faint scent of disinfectant with a mix of the sweet smell of lily flowers in the air. It made him scrunch up his nose like a baby who had just woken up from slumber. This was his first breath after coma, so to speak. His hands trembled as he tried to move it as if testing whether he was really awake or not. He momentarily forgot the darkness that cloaked around him.

He fluttered his eyelids and stared at the ceiling. The incandescent light above him looked unsettling. The white wall backdrop looked haunting as the ECG machine continued to beat in resonance with his heart. He thinks whether or not hearts were actually little bombs or dormant little volcanoes we carry like the thought of death in our hearts, haunting us with the thought that life could be taken as fast as it was given.

He sighed. As he closed his eyes, he felt the pressure and the folding of skin. He is alive.

Eyes adjusting to the light inside the unfamiliar place, he panicked as he realized that he is in an unfamiliar place. He felt like he’s been punched and restrained. It felt like air was slowly being sucked out from his lungs as he struggled to gather whatever was left of his composure upon the realization that he was alive.

Something in him wanted to scream, but he could not summon the voice to. He grimaced, clenched his fists, and noticed that he was on dextrose and his arm was bandaged. Everything hurt like hell. He tried peaking at his head. He saw a white a wirelike fiber wrapped around his head. He was wearing something on his neck too.

Now he was hurting. He shifted his eyes towards the door. He could hear muffled chatter outside. The sound of footsteps tapping against the floor was barely audible, but he could hear them nonetheless. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he tried thinking how he ended up in the hospital.

There was a figure hovering outside. He was talking to someone. After awhile, the door clicked and then a tall man in white uniform entered his room.

“Oh you’re awake.”

The doctor paused for a second, adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose and inquired,

“Do you know where you are right now?”

Fushimi scoured the room with his eyes.

“I’m at a hospital.”

“Do you remember how you got here?”

Fushimi creased his eyebrows. He tried to recall how and why he was at a place like that but he couldn’t.

“What’s your name?”

Fushimi couldn’t answer.

“Figured.” The doctor said and excused himself. He was going to get something.

Fushimi waited. He just lay there on the hospital bed thinking; thinking of who he was; of the reason why he was there at the hospital.

When the doctor came back, he was told that he was suffering from amnesia. His family was waiting for him to wake up. He had been asleep for five days so it would be good news to them. Fushimi did not understand what the doctor was saying. It was too much for him to take in. When he finally met his family everything felt as if this life was not his.

Looking at the two strangers, he couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Insecure. He looked at the man that was supposed to be his father. He was a tall blond man. He looked like a yakuza but spoke in a gentle soothing kind of way, like he is ready to listen to whatever woes you have, and that you could tell him everything that bothers you. His mother was a gorgeous, buxom woman, blond too with pretty eyes on a face that emanated the impassive coldness of tundra. She was clearly sleep deprived. Gazing at Fushimi, her face color with emotion. She creased her well tailored eyebrows and embraced Fushimi gently. An embrace was warm, Fushimi thinks. It was if this was the first time he felt like he was embraced like he was important; it felt like this was the first time he felt like he mattered and that made him feel troubled. The body remembers what the mind forgets. If he forgot, then why did his body also forgot? Why did everything felt so new to him?

Something was definitely wrong, and he was not stupid to not to see this.

He wasn’t discharged immediately. He stayed at the hospital for awhile until the doctor decided that he was fit enough to go out. When he finally did, it didn’t bring him joy. If anything, he felt indifferent and empty. Yet, he went with the flow and didn’t bother to ask any questions. He accepted everything as it was, thinking that even if they were truly strangers, there was nothing in it for them if they took care of him.

When they arrived at the countryside, it amused him that they were all living in the province that didn’t seem familiar to him. He was amused at the thought he didn’t feel anything. Nothing. Not even nostalgia. He didn’t really care though. It was convenient—being taken care of; being brought whatever he wanted to eat; being told stories by the kids around the neighbourhood who visited him all the time to “cheer” him up because they tease that “Onii-chan is too gloomy”. They liked making him laugh, which was of course impossible so it became a game to the children. The person who will make Fushimi-onii-san laugh would be the most awesome person who will ever live.

He got used to the children’s visits and their attempt at getting him to open up to them and to finally at least smile. They asked him to teach them how to plant crops, how to do gardening, and even asked him to tell them stories. He just made stories out of thin air whenever the kids were too eager. He didn’t want to break their innocent hearts, so often, he just went with the flow.

One afternoon they were in the garden watering some crops when a child asked him something that disturbed him.

“Onii-san, onii—san..” The youngest pestered, clinging on to his sleeve. He was a petite boy with a face that made him look like a girl. His large, innocent eyes stared at Fushimi’s own intensely. Fushimi fiddled with his wrist band to hide his unease.

“What?”

“When is Misaki-onii-san coming back? Is he still coming back?”

 

“Yeah, we didn’t see him for quite some time and we thought that when Uncle and Aunt came back they’re going to bring Misaki-onii-san with them.” The girl said matter of factly, stopping whatever she was doing when he heard her brother’s question.

“Oi!” The eldest snapped running towards their direction, reprimanding his siblings.

“Mama said we shouldn’t bring that thing up idiots!” The other kid whispered.

“Eh? But.. but..”

“No buts..” Addressing Fushimi, the other kid continued, “It’s nothing onii-chan. You don’t need to answer their question. hehe.” The child sounded guilty. Fushimi narrowed his eyes but let it go.

Misaki? Who was Misaki?

Eager to have his memories back and to figure out who this Misaki guy was, he rummaged through stuff inside the house to find things that would help him.

He was told that if he was patient, he would sooner or later regain his memories back. And that’s what he’s been doing. Waiting, and writing things down on a journal. Things like what happened during the day, what he did, what he felt, and whether or not he remembered something from his past.

It was no use though. No matter what he did, he still couldn’t remember anything. It was frustrating. He also thought, that maybe there was a reason why he couldn’t remember. Maybe it was better if he didn’t remember anything at all. Maybe he forgot because his past was painful and that this was the reason why he forgot them. His mind is protecting itself from the pain and the suffering he had experienced; sparing him from experiencing them all over again if he remembers; sparing him from the truth and the lies that await him.

\---

Whenever we are aware of something, or someone, that person begins to be part of our world. Misaki was not part of Fushimi’s world, but because of the constant mentions, and the curiosity that was growing in Fushimi, Misaki was now part of it.

He dreams of him. He dreams of him screaming, “Live idiot monkey!” as they both fall. The other reaches out to hold him. And when he finally does, a soft chuckle in between ragged breath against his cheek feels like he isn’t dreaming at all. It is as if the feeling of falling wrapped in Misaki’s embrace and warmth is real. The sensation of skin burns.

These dreams always made Fushimi wake up with a start, sweating, and heaving as though he really did fall and his soul just returned to his body when he finally hit the ground.

 

Fushimi finally found old photobooks and albums containing picture of him and Misaki together. Based from this, he gathered that Misaki was a friend. His childhood friend. They both grew up in this neighbourhood together. Being best of friends, there was no day that they were not together.

Of the two, Misaki was the playful one; the adventurer between the two of them, while Fushimi was this quiet and shy child; introverted. The one who spent his time reading books and played by himself.

Looking at the pictures made him remember a little. He remembered Misaki’s declaration of building him a castle and being his knight. He remembered Misaki waving his plastic sword in the air with confidence as though he was an honorable knight. Brave. Face beaming like spring opening just after winter leaves, sweeping away the loneliness and the darkness that comes with the cold, he looked like the sun.

 

Fushimi turned to another page. He saw a picture of both of them in an embrace. Fushimi clung to his friend hesitantly, as though he didn’t know how to react to his friend’s enthusiasm at their reunion. His parents were in the background looking at them fondly.

He remembered that this was when Misaki left and he was thinking of the number of days that Misaki will be gone. He remembered how he fiddled with his hands, praying to God Almighty for Misaki to stay.

Flipping to another page, he saw pictures of them all grown up with others. There were with co-workers perhaps. Behind them, there was a huge name of an establishment which Fushimi figured they worked. That made him decide to go to Tokyo to learn more about Misaki.

Fushimi went to his old workplace first. He was accommodated and even warmly welcomed by his co-workers whom appeared strangers to him. When everything settled, someone came up to him, he was a slender young man with dark wavy hair. He introduced himself as Akiyama.

They talked. They talked about how it is working with Fushimi. He told him that he was efficient; quiet, a silent and effective worker. As they were conversing, he accidentally commented something like he never thought he would end up like that. Fushimi was bothered by this. Akiyama knew that he made a mistake. He evaded further questions on the matter as much as he could.

The next place Fushimi visited was Misaki’s workplace. He met his friend’s supervisor. They talked about Misaki about how he was a great help; a great friend, and how he would always talk about Fushimi.

“It was a pity he was gone too soon.”

Drat. The storeowner cursed inside his mind. He should’ve not said that. Fushimi’s eyes widened slightly. He wanted to ask what happened. He wanted to ask why was everyone trying to hide something from him.

.

.

.

The clock struck 3 in the afternoon. Fushimi was at the park basking on the warmth of the afternoon sunlight thinking of the things that he gathered. Misaki. His childhood friend; the boy that the kids loved to hang out with. A hard worker, simple but passionate. A friend. Lost. Gone. Forever.

Beautiful things really are the first to perish. He still wondered what could have happened and why. He touched his wrists and took off the wrist band his mother gave him. There were faint lines on its skin. Scars. He touched them and didn’t bother to think of what could have happened to him to get those. But he knew. The constant heavy feeling he carried was enough proof.

He clenched and unfurled his hand. He touched the faded lines on his wrist again. Fushimi was surprised why he couldn't cry anymore. He wondered whether or not he ever cried before or were his tear ducts all dried up from the very beginning? Was there even a use to chasing after a ghost?

Misaki. Why does everything end with Misaki? Fushimi cluck his tongue and gazed at the sky. It was beginning to dusk; time to go home.

He took something out of his backpack. It was a notebook he found lying inside his room. He didn't check it yet. When he skimmed through the pages, he found an address written in script. He went to that address. When he arrived he realized that it was the apartment where he used to live.

Standing outside his own door, Fushimi felt uneasy. His was brought back from his reverie when he heard a click on the door. A tall man, with glasses on, and dark hair smiled at him. He looked like he was going somewhere.

“How may I help you?” The other asked.

Fushimi looked away from the stranger. He looked welcoming to the point it was ticking him off. Giving up, Fushimi decided to ask him a question.

“Have you been live here long?”

The other thought for a second.

“No. I started living here after that suicide incident.”

“The what?!” Fushimi was surprised.

“I was told that a young man.. maybe about your age tried committing suicide here by jumping out of his balcony.”

The stranger’s violet eyes settled on Fushimi.

“I heard a friend rushed to his aid and end up dying instead.”

Adjusting his glasses, the stranger continued, “Everyone had been constantly talking about the said incident the past weeks I’ve been here. It is most troubling as I am the new tenant here and hearing such incidents keep me up at night.

“Nonetheless, it is sad to think that an innocent life was lost. This is probably not my place to say this, but young man, if you’re having a hard time, don’t hesitate to ask for help.”

Footsteps pattered louder.

“Oi, Munakata.. Hurry up!”

“Excuse me.” The stranger smiled at Fushimi.

Addressing another, he continued, “Just a second Suoh.”

Now turning back to Fushimi, “I’m Munakata Reishi. So what again is your purpose of coming here?”

“Nothing… I’m just..”

“What’s your name?”

“Fu...Fushimi Saruhiko.”

“Well, Fushimi-kun. I have to go now, my companion is impatient. Feel free to come visit if you like. Here is my calling card.” Reishi handed him his calling card, and left.

“Mattaku… slow.” Fushimi heard Reishi’s companion drawl lazily.

Fushimi just stood there, looking at the other as he walked away from him. Fushimi looked dumbfounded at what he just knew. He gripped on the paper that he was holding.

The wind surprisingly blew colder, making him shiver. He leaned against the balcony. He kept on staring at the piece of paper without reading.

Suicide? A friend dying?

Fushimi pressed his eyes shut. He crumpled the paper in his hand as he gritted his teeth. He remembered now. How could he ever forget? The tears started to stream from his eyes. He bit his lip to stop wails coming from his mouth as the memory of that day filled his mind.

It was an afternoon like this one. Orange light suffused the every crevice of the street, of the hallway of this little apartment which was once his. Light glistened as it peaked from behind the leaves of the trees.

\---

Impatient footsteps struck against the ground. Misaki was sweating and he was feeling cold. He had been asking around for Fushimi. He hadn't been going to his job for five days already after they both had an argument about the scars on his wrists.

It made him feel worthless as his friend. It made him feel guilty as well. He kept on telling myself if only he had been beside Fushimi he would have kept him from harming himself. If only he paid more attention to his friend’s suffering.

With nowhere else in mind, he decided to check Fushimi’s apartment. He didn't think that Fushimi would be there. His friend was too intelligent to go where he would be found first.

When he arrived in front of Fushimi’s door, he didn't hesitate, he called for his friend but no one replied.

Fushimi was inside. He didn't reply because he was wearing his earphones, and his music was on full volume. This was the end. This was the end of his suffering and he chose to be accompanied in his last moments by his favorite song.

Misaki was pounding against his door, screaming his name at the top of his lungs. The neighbors were pissed off. Asking him to stop. He remembered that there was a certain place Fushimi always left his keys, and it was in a plant just outside his door. He checked it and the key was really there. He was able to enter inside. By the time he entered, he saw Fushimi standing on the balcony, about to jump.

Fushimi didn't know what came to him that when Misaki shouted his name at the top of his lungs, the song blasting in his ears was muted, and the only thing that he heard was Misaki’s voice screaming his name.

He turned around and stared at his friend. Why was he there? Why.. of all people was he there? The emptiness in Fushimi's heart didn't allow him to feel things. He felt nothing as he gazed at Misaki. His eyes grew wide and he laughed hysterically. He didn't know why he was laughing.

“Saru… come down from there!”

“Why? Didn't you abandon me already Mi-sa-ki? Why are you acting like my friend now?”

Misaki bit his lip. He was guilty as charged.

“Go to that foolish boss of yours. I don't need you here!” Fushimi bowed his head and clenched his fists.

Misaki took a step closer.

“Don't come! Stay there. Or I’m really gonna jump!”

“Saru… please… don’t.. Come down from there idiot!” Misaki bit his lip as he trembled. He was in the verge of tears.

“Please.. I’m sorry. I’m a useless friend.”

“Misaki.” Fushimi smirked maniacally. He didn’t feel anything. He didn’t really care about anything. He scratched the left clavicle in a desperate need, as if this was going to compensate for his lack of feeling.

He looked at Misaki. He felt it again, the emptiness, the uselessness of being alive, unloved, and unwanted.

“Misaki, it hurts. It really hurts.” Fushimi cried. Pressing a fist to his chest, he broke down sobbing as he stood there ready to die. He raised his head. And then, with a last smile, he jumped. Misaki rushed to his aid and they fell. As they fell, he heard Misaki shout,

“Live idiot monkey!” It was the only thing he heard him say as everything went dark.

——

Fushimi woke up in the hospital. When he opened his eyes, he saw his mother’s worried face. It was unusual to see any emotion in her beautiful countenance.

“We heard that you fainted. So we rushed all the way here. Mattaku. Don’t scare us like that!”

Fushimi exhaled. It was difficult for him to speak while holding back his emotions.

“I… I remember everything now.”

His parents looked at each other in disbelief.

“I remember everything now. I killed him. I killed Misaki.” Face contorting in pain, he sobbed softly.

“I killed him. I killed my best friend! I should have been the one who died. I’m sorry.. I’m sorry for taking him away from you. I deserve to die!”

“Shush.. it wasn’t your fault..” His mother embraced him.

“What happened was out of your control.”

“Fushimi.” His father embraced him too. The feeling that spread throughout his body was warm.

“We love you as our own child. Please don’t think that you are less than you truly are.”

“Look.” His father made way for the others who came to visit him. He saw Akiyama, and his co-workers at his former job.

“You are loved. And we hope that you wouldn't beat yourself up over Misaki’s death, and live the life he would want you to live.”

Fushimi sobbed, as he realised that he wasn’t fighting a battle alone.


End file.
